New Responsibilities
by DivergingFangirl5
Summary: Tris and Peter get a taste of family life in several short snippets of events. This is a sequel to New Beginnings. Don't read it if you haven't read the actual story. Rated T for language and sexual nature.


I've been having bizarre stomach aches since I was three months pregnant. Is that even what they call them? 'Stomach Aches'? Should it not be 'Womb Aches'? Anyway, I am probably exaggerating in calling them 'bizarre'. They are not that 'bizarre'. They just… take me by surprise sometimes. I started wondering if other women at the same stages of pregnancy would experience this. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, there were about thirteen pregnancy books scattered about the house.

Peter told me not to overreact. He was calm. He told me that he would convince me this was normal by taking me to a doctor and proving me wrong. Throughout the whole session that I was propped against a half-laid-back lounger and my legs were cupped by the metallic supporters, Peter paced up and down the room (the thing he does not do when he is calm).

In the end, the doctor told us that it was food poisoning. And after that, Peter refused to cook anything else for me ever again.

So now we are a stereotypical couple. Me doing the cooking. Him doing the work. Everything fell in its place. Except that I, still am very crap at preparing any kind of meals.

"Listen, I can just order pizza," he speaks behind me, reaching over to stroke my eight-month old bump.

I frown at the burnt chicken in the frying pan in front of me.

"We can't order pizza for the rest of our lives. With you refusing to poison me, and I just… I'm just shit at being a girlfriend, aren't I?"

With a hint of frustration, I shove at the stove until the heating turns off. Our stove is shit too. Peter made it work somehow but now that the cooking chore shifted to me, it just won't turn on and off sometimes.

I hear his smirk, "I'm the one with the damaged genes. Surely, I must be the one failing cooking sessions."

I roll my eyes at the idea of a joke, "Damaged genes don't affect your cooking abilities. They affect behaviour."

"Yeah, I know," he sighs, "I was trying to lighten up the mood."

When I turn around, he tucks the loose strand of hair behind my ear. My hair has grown out a lot and I don't know if it is the hormones or something else, but I couldn't tolerate its length anymore. So I started to put it up in a bun.

He stares at me before speaking a moment later, "What do you want for dinner?"

I raise my eyebrows and consider what he has to offer. He will not cook anything, but these days you can buy everything frozen in a store. I think back to last week when I started craving burgers. Lots and lots of burgers.

I swallow.

"Burgers," I answer, watching a smirk light up on his face.

"Then I will get you a burger. Okay?"

"Okay."

He kisses me and leaves. It is 7 in the evening and my boyfriend is out searching for stupid burgers. If I wasn't pregnant, life would be much easier. Not necessarily rewarding, but easier.

Neither of us know what the sex of the baby is but we already started playing around with a couple of names. Peter hopes it is a girl. He said he would name her Natalie. I wasn't sure if he intended on making me get all warm and fuzzy because of the sweet remark, but it certainly worked. I ended up crying.

I also want a girl. I want to know what it was like for my mother. I want to braid my daughter's hair and go for quiet walks and take her to school. With a boy, everything is a bit crazier. I have had enough crazy to last me a lifetime.

If it is a boy though, I would call him Toby… or Uriah. I couldn't say 'Tobias' because Peter would have taken it the wrong way. Toby is enough though. It doesn't remind me of Tobias too much, but at the same time it does. Which is perfect.

Peter wanted to name the boy Peter the Second. I laughed.

SHSHSHSHSHSH

Lenny, our neighbour, came over the next morning. Her husband, Dom, was already at work. He has early starts. Peter found a mutual language with him, which took me by surprise. They are completely different people but ever since we moved to this house, they have been acting like best friends. Lenny and Dom are five years older than us.

"I found a class for pregnant women in Milwaukee. I am taking you there right now," Lenny's saccharine voice fills the kitchen. I roll my eyes at her. It is too early for me to socialize.

"I am not attending those stupid classes. I have a lot to do at home," I answer. She tilts her head to the side, making her blonde hair wash over her shoulder in waves.

"Oh yeah? Like what?" her eyes widen, "Cooking?"

We exchange a laugh before I can reply.

"No, I have to paint the baby's room."

"Oh yeah? What colour?" she folds her arms.

"Oh yeah? Err, white!" I mimic, biting my lip to stop myself from smiling. She reminds me of Christina, even though she looks nothing like her.

"What if you pain it pink and it turns out to be a boy? Or visa versa. You paint it blue and it turns out to be a girl. Why can't you just find out the gender already?"

"We want it to be a surprise," I sigh, taking a seat on the kitchen stool.

"Yeah, I bet," Lenny does the same, taking a piece of toast into her mouth, "It will be a surprise when the gender doesn't match your room design."

"Oh my god, can we just leave it?" As soon as I ask the question, Peter saunters into the kitchen, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and kissing me on the cheek.

"Alright, see you later," he murmurs. I furrow my eyebrows.

"You're going already?" His suit drives my hormones insane. The black and white compliments his face; the collar is loose around his neck; his tie is tied clumsily and I think that the cuff links he is wearing are amazing. Basically, if Lenny wasn't here I would have jumped on him.

"Yeah, I'm running a bit late," he flashes a smirk at me as he throws the sandwiches I made earlier into his paper bag. His lunch.

Peter has picked up a desk job ten minutes from here. I am still unsure what it is that he is doing. Something about ensuring that the city is never to be opened to another uprising of some sort. I don't know. He is an assistant manager. And he earns a lot of money from it.

The day we argued about his secretary was by far the most insane day of my pregnancy. He made me livid. Apparently, this blonde woman named Wendy came onto him when he was about to leave for home. Consequentially, he fired her. And then when he came back in the evening, he told me what had happened. I broke all our plates. I should have been happy that he went as far as firing this woman just to reassure me that he is not a cheat.

But that's not how it works. I still went mad. It's forgotten now though.

"Well, hurry along," Lenny sings, taking another bite of her toast.

"Bye," he comes up to me again and kisses me for a long time before Lenny awkwardly clears her throat.

SHSHSHSHSHSH

I sit in the semi-painted room which is to be our baby's. I have abandoned the rollers and the paint pots after one of them spilled. I can't do this without Peter. I can't even reach the top of the wall to get it covered with the white. So for the first time in my life, I gave up.

The wooden planks beneath me start making me sore. I sit on my legs instead, holding the phone to my ear. Peter is on the other line.

"Where's Lenny?" he asks. I hear the clicking of a computer mouse as he talks.

"She left half an hour ago," I slur, not wanting to get up, "Work emergency."

"She left you to paint a room by yourself?"

"Hey, it's not like I can't paint a room by myself," I run a hand down my neck, imagining him in his amazing suit.

"You're probably sulking on the floor because you couldn't reach the top of the wall, am I right?"

I stay silent for a moment. He laughs.

"I can't wait for you to get home," a smirk appears on my face, wondering if he can hear the seduction in my voice.

He starts speaking like me. Quieter and slower, "Me neither, babe." So he _can_ hear the seduction.

"When you come back, keep the suit on. And meet me in the bedroom, okay?" I wipe the sweat on my palms by dragging them down my knees, one at a time.

"I will do," he releases a sexy chuckle, "When the baby is out, we could try that position we aren't able to do."

I laugh before answering, "We can't have sex for six weeks after the baby is out." Peter stays quiet for a moment.

I look up at the ceiling and smile at the stuck on stars. They are supposed to glow in the dark.

"Peter?"

Still silence.

"Peter," I say.

"Wait, what?" at that moment he sounds as innocent as he will ever be. It's like he didn't even bother reading those pregnancy books. I frown slightly and then clear my throat.

"You've read the books, right?"

"No sex for six weeks?" he asks instead. I roll my eyes and sigh. This could be a long conversation.

SHSHSHSHSHSH

I kiss Peter when he arrives home. Just as we planned, he kept his suit on and met me in the bedroom. And after that… well, things heated up. Some people (like our neighbours) are curious about the fact that we still have time for sex. We however, are not curious at all. I am currently unemployed and spend most of my time at home. Peter works during the day and has the weekends free. In some way, he is quite flexible.

So that is why we have a lot of time. Both of us are afraid of what would happen when the bay comes. Obviously, we won't have as much alone time because I would have just pushed a human being out of my vagina. Honestly, I don't know what will happen. I am very afraid.

Maybe that is why we take advantage of everything right now. Because later it will all be gone.

We make out of the bed for what feels like a minute until he surprises me by pulling away and breathing the words: "Suck me off."

The lucid memory penetrates my mind like a million leeches, trying to worm their way through to my brain. I shouldn't let them get that far. I am in a happy relationship with a baby on the way. Although I have never tried performing oral sex on Peter, I already feel like that would be a bad idea.

Whether we mend each other or not, some things are best kept locked away. Especially that memory. Which will never cause me to think twice about the activity so many people love.

Peter throws away his blazer when I don't respond and starts working on his trousers. He gets them off in a split second before removing his boxers. At the sight of his length, I gag slightly. I start imagining how it would feel forcing its way down my throat, showing no mercy whatsoever.

I know that Peter is about to shift his member closer to my head because he starts leaning up.

Involuntarily, I moan and snap my head to the side, shutting my eyes tightly. Hot tears begin to gather in my eyes before I can push the image of Nick's face out of my damn head. No, please, no.

"Tris," he whispers, stroking my cheek. I don't turn around because I am afraid. So afraid.

The bed shifts and his weight leaves it. There are footsteps. And then my already dark vision darkens when he comes to stand at the side of the bed. I open my eyes.

"It's fine if you don't want to," he looks slightly embarrassed, his eyes glancing away from mine after every word, "You don't… you know… have to cry. You could have told me you didn't want to."

I swallow before speaking.

"I do want to," I answer honestly, "I've just had a bad experience."

"Derek?" his eyes glue to mine. Huh. I almost forgot about that bastard. The thought of him makes me laugh slightly. What a pathetic excuse for a person.

Peter eyes me suspiciously at my reaction and moves to sit on the bed, instead of kneeling in front of it.

"No, not Derek," I spit his name out like poison. So many men in my world. So many tyrants.

"What… Four?" his brow raises, giving him a more innocent look. I blink away the tears and sigh in relief when they dry. Then I sit up and lean against the headboard, stroking my bump absent-mindedly.

"No, not him either," I mumble.

"Then who?" Peter is smirking now, probably wondering if I put on this big act just to get out of gagging on his dick.

"It's not important," I say, "I just don't wanna do it."

Peter frowns at me.

"What happened to being honest with each other?"

"I am being honest. I don't want to do it."

"No, you didn't tell me why. Or who repelled you from doing it." He never gives up, does he? I look up at him and smile slightly, hoping for the same reaction. He doesn't smile. He continues to stare past my eyes, right into my soul. He feels so close, it's almost strange that he hasn't guessed the reason yet.

"I will tell you. Just don't make a big deal out of it, okay?"

"Okay," his posture straightens and he takes my hand, squeezing it slightly.

"I'm serious," I warn, not tearing my eyes away from his, "don't start freaking out. It's in the past."

"Tris, just tell me," he fakes a smile. The weight is definitely still there. But he doesn't want me to feel it.

I sigh before starting to talk. Quieter than I am used to.

"Remember when…" I glance down and then back up at him. He urges me to move on by nodding. Should I start recalling the events, though? We have been doing so well. We are still recovering from all the wars, and recalling the horrible events from the past is not what our therapist recommended.

I decide to start again.

"Nick," I cough sheepishly, watching as his face changes. He looks angry now. This is what a simple name can do to a person. I didn't even tell him what had happened.

"Are you fucking serious? That little fucker- how did I not-… Ugh!" Peter runs his hands through his hair, doubling over to make himself look smaller. His fingers grip his locks with so much pressure that I begin wondering if he will be able to pull them out.

"Is that you not freaking out?" I ask, biting my lip. I don't think he is in the mood to joke. One minute we were happy and the next…

"Are you-?" he turns to look at me, "Are you for real? This is not funny, Tris!"

"I'm not suggesting that is it!" Suddenly I feel defensive. Of what? Fuck knows.

"Why didn't you tell me before? How could you keep this a secret?" He moves closer, grabbing the headboard with one hand and towering over me. His wrist is an inch away from my face and I feel his heat radiating off of it.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't exactly looking forward to telling you these updates on my life-"

"You could have told me, Tris!" His eyes burn red. The light in this room really does not suit him right now, "Is there anything else I should know about?" His face softens slightly, but his voice maintains harsh.

"No," I shake my head, placing a hand on my hip where the baby starts practising tap dancing.

"Are you sure?" he asks again, pulling away slightly.

"Yes, I'm sure! Will you just drop it?!" I wince at the pain in my womb. And Peter notices. He furrows his eyebrows. But before he can figure out how much pain I am in, I yell again, "I don't want to 'suck you off', alright?!"

"Okay, okay, okay," he hushes, stroking my hair.

I whimper softly and lean back against the pillow. My hands cover my bump as I shut my eyes. I imagine the baby stretching out his legs and waving his arms around. He or she is oblivious to the amount of bones I am probably fracturing right now. It's all my fault anyway.

Suddenly, I feel emotional. The tears spring back into my eyes and I let out a strangled sob. Peter looks guilty now. I am not crying because of the pain, I am crying just because I am. He doesn't realize that. And it makes me feel more awful.

"See? The baby doesn't like it when we shout!" I cry, rubbing the bottom of my bump, "Please, let's stop arguing."

Peter murmurs sympathetically, stroking my hair and my bump and rocking back and forth in distress.

"Babe, I'm sorry, okay, I won't shout at you ever again, I'm so so so sorry. Tris, I love you."

And this is pretty much how the pregnancy is so far. Making love. Arguing. Shouting. Crying. And always being comforted by my lovely boyfriend afterwards. Always.

 **Haven't decided if I am going to make a second chapter to this. We'll see. For now, tell me what you liked and disliked about this sequel. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Review :)**


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